The Golden Fleece
by chrysanthemumsies
Summary: The Golden Fleece, the keeper of immortality, has been stolen. Captain Jack Sparrow is at the top of the list of those who can help find it, but there is someone who is needed even more than him, someone who has more power... Someone who is bored out of her mind being a sitting duck back on Port Royal. Oh, well, a certain captain will need to change that, won't he? Sparrabeth.
1. Prologue

Readers;

Hello! This is my long-term attempt at writing a story that isn't just romantic fluff, with an actual plot to it. And I'm just warning you, I have little-to-no forethought to this story. I'm just writing out whatever's in my head at the moment, and daydreaming about how this story is going to proceed while I'm taking a shower, or during school. So, if you have any suggestions, it's definitely not too forward! The only thing I'm sticking on is Jack Sparrow x Elizabeth, AKA the best ship on the ship. Other than that, fire away!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, nor do I make anything off of the PotC franchise.

* * *

The prince did not like to wait.

The skyline above the Mediterranean grew dimmer and dimmer into a foggy violet, circling through colors until it rested into a fading black. The constellations above the island of Crete told stories, stories of heroes and villains and monsters and magic. But he had not a minute to dwell on such petty lore, no matter how heavy the truth hung onto it. His striking gray eyes were too busy tracing the sea for any sign of movement.

Finally, as if his urgent gaze was enough to call to it, puffy white sails reflected off the hazy half-moon into appearance. With an anxious sigh, he called out few choice words in Greek to the servants guarding the city of Heraklion. Immediately, they lit torches around the port as a signal to the approaching ship.

Soon, the massive vessel rocked into view, the title 'Circe's Vengeance' elegantly painted onto the mahogany-colored exterior. As if the ship brought the winds of Aeolus with it, a sudden gust flew at the prince, knocking the gold circlet atop his head into the inky water. He held up a hand to one of the advisors. "No worries," he assured them, "I shall ask Poseidon to return it as favor."

The prince winced as his chocolate curls whipped against his cheeks. Freezing cold waves grew higher, splashing the bottom of his robe and soaking his golden sandals. But he kept his ground, his trained eye keeping sight of the ornate ship as it carried itself to the nestle beside him. He nodded towards his men, and they went to prepare the deck for the arrival.

"Meriones," he called with a tense smile, catching the attention of the man on deck. "Dear friend, how long has it been?"

The older man leaned over the railing, squinting his eyes to the figure and then grinning with recognition. "Far too long, young prince."

Using the various windows that decorated the side of the ship, the captain slid down the woodwork, quickly shuffling his feet from ledge to ledge to mar his speed. He jumped to the deck a bit too high up, though, so when he landed he propelled a bit too far forward he ran into the prince, his hands flying to his shoulders to steady them both. But the prince just laughed, grasping the older man's shoulders as well.

"Finally, some excitement!" He exclaimed, letting the happiness run through him. But soon, the grimness returned to his bones, and his face fell once again. "Captain, I need your help."

Meriones immediately sobered, meeting his eyes with firm seriousness. "Why are you so far from Colchis, friend? What has troubled you?"

The young prince let a tight smile show through. "You have been traveling the Mediterranean for longer than I remember, captain. We call my kingdom 'Guria' now, in the country of 'Georgia'."

The man nodded, the blonde locks not restrained by a tie tickling his jaw. "It has been a few centuries since our last meeting, young prince."

"I am relieved that Circe's spell has protected you for this long. But my side of the immortality is running out."

Meriones furrowed his eyebrows, sliding his hands down to grasp the prince's biceps firmly with a small shake. "Please, proceed. What has happened?"

He lowered his head, the fire above illuminating his deeply tanned skin into frightful shadows. "The Golden Fleece has been stolen."

The captain gasped, dropping his hands as if the prince was a burning metal. "But, the dragon…?"

"The dragon guarding it has disappeared as well. Something scared it off. And whatever did, I don't want to know." He absentmindedly straightened his golden shawl on his shoulders, over the violet linen that draped down half his torso and around his waist. "But I need the Golden Fleece back. That's the only thing keeping me young. Please, Meriones. I need your help in finding it. Without it protecting everyone in the palace of Guria, we will all perish in the downfall of the kingdom and, eventually, Georgia itself. Not to mention my familial ties with Greece. My death will not come calmly, not after all of the Greek and Roman enemies alike I've made over the thousands of years. I don't want my motherland nor my kingdom to fall down parallel paths when people realize my apparent aging. Meriones, I beg of you. Do you know of anyone that can help? Anyone that knows more outside of the Mediterranean Sea, past the Strait of Gibraltar?"

The captain looked at him for a hard moment before slumping against the stone wall that overtook the Heraklion port, rubbing his dark eyes against the heel of his hand. "I am a pirate, young prince. I will help you because you are my greatest friend, but the friends I've made into the North Atlantic are not as valiant. They will demand a price, and even then there is no promise in their assistance. It's a very risky favor to ask."

The young man knelt before Meriones, taking one of his calloused hands in his own. "I am willing to pay anything for the cost of millions of lives, captain. There must be someone that can help, someone that is more trustworthy than the others."

After a long pause, the air shifted and Meriones took in a deep breath. "Perhaps… There is someone that you speak of, young prince. But I don't believe that he is… very conventional."

"Anyone," the young man pleaded. "Whoever earns even your slightest disposition is more than enough for the task. What is his name?"

Meriones averted his eyes as he spoke. "I understand your urgency, but I truly don't think…"

The prince's hands clenched tighter, still holding on to Meriones's own. "What is his name?"

The captain released the prince and stood, looking out to the sea with a tense gaze. "He has many names. Some call him Young Teague, the Pearl's Keeper, the Caribbean Lord… But there is one that his reputation clings onto the strongest."

"What is it?"

He turned his head, meeting the prince's eyes warily. "Captain Jack Sparrow."


	2. Disguised

"The ship is arriving!"

Cheers erupted around Port Royal, mainly those of tearful wives that were hoping dearly not to be widows. Young children were dancing and playing, hitting each other with wooden swords and yelling at each other in pirate talk. Older people, the fathers and mothers of the sailors, were mingling amongst other parents about their children. The Jamaican town was abuzz, and only became more and more excited as the creamy sails became visible in the Atlantic.

"Caleb, Judith, come now," Melinda Richardson called to her children, rounding them up beneath her hands. "Your father is captaining on that ship right over there, you see. Soon, he will be with us once more! He has gathered up goods for this colony back on England, doing great service!" She kissed each of them on the forehead anxiously.

More and more people celebrated as the boat carried itself to the space beside them, waving to the sailors aboard. They grinned as well, pausing their duties for long enough to wave back at their families.

"Jonathon!" Melinda called, her eyes trained on the figure at the wheel. He was lankier than she remembered, but he still had the broad shoulders and the tanned skin she remembered. His hair was kept short, as she could tell under his hat. _I never gave him a hat, _she thought absentmindedly. _It must be new._

"Daddy!" Judith yelled, jumping up and down.

Caleb nudged her out of the way. "Captain!" He called with a childish smile. That did catch Jonathon's attention on board, it seemed. He turned his head, the hat marring most of his features. His jaw was no longer clean shaven, but stubbled with prickly black hair. Melinda didn't mind, though, as long as she had her husband back.

The captain raised a hand to them, waving with what seemed to be a tight smile. They didn't notice the tenseness of it, however, and only cheered and waved to him more.

Soon, more and more sailors were climbing off the ship, running into their families' arms. Jonathon took his time on the ship, going back into his quarters presumably to fetch a few things. All the men were chatting away, staying for the governor's announcements that were surely soon to come.

"Damn it," Melinda whispered under her breath, making sure nobody heard her speak the unladylike words. "Come down to your family." As if he could hear her words, he emerged.

"Jonathon!" Melinda cried, running into his arms as soon as his feet touched land. He smelled of salt and spices, from months overseas. He held her back in his strong arms, steadying her frame that was shaking from joy.

Without warning, she leaned back and kissed him, pushing herself as much against him as what was socially acceptable. After a surprised pause, he kissed her back, winding one arm around her waist and the other against the back of her head. She laughed against his lips, throwing her arms around his neck and knocking off his hat.

Judith screamed.

Long clumps of hair flew over Melinda's arms, and her eyes immediately widened. Instead of warm brown eyes, she met ones that were intensely black, smudged in kohl. She flew away, pushing him back into the group of sailors behind him. Yells erupted, and guns were soon cocked to his head. The man eyed the weapons distastefully.

"Alright, alright, I see what this is about," Captain Jack Sparrow began, bending down to pick up his hat. The barrels of the guns followed him as he did, but he showed no anxiety. He grabbed it, blowing off the dirt before placing it back on his head. "Ye all want to throw a party for me, innit? Well, don't let little ol' me spoil yer plans, go right on ahead."

"Pirate," the first mate hissed through clenched teeth, thrusting the gun closer to Jack's face. "I should have known we had an infestation, what with the rum disappearing at frightening numbers."

Jack pointed a finger at him, waving it in his face. "Now, now, Samuel, we both know the rum wasn't even very good. I was doing ye all a favor by finishing it off, if ye don't think about it."

"Bloody pest," Samuel growled, pressing the barrel close against his throat. "I should just kill you right now, and present your head to the governor on a silver platter."

Jack nodded, agreeing, before looking over Samuel's shoulder in mock astonishment. "But if ye do that, ye'll miss out in catching the famous _Captain Jack Sparrow _right over there."

Samuel rolled his eyes. "I'm not falling for that one."

But the children weren't so clever, turning their heads. Caleb raised his voice, tearing out of his mother's hold to jump and point out at the sea. "It's the _Black Pearl!_"

Everyone immediately turned, catching sight of the black sails marring the peaceful blue sky. Chaos was immediately unleashed, sailors saying rushed goodbyes to their loved ones before pushing them towards their respective houses hurriedly. Jack looked around innocently and tucked his hair back up into his hat, quickly springing into a run away from the havoc. He thought he was in the clear, until he felt a kick at his boots. He stumbled, catching himself, and then looked down with pursed lips.

It was little Caleb, looking up at him with a mixture between anger and admiration. "You're a pirate."

"Aye."

"You're the actual Jack Sparrow, aren't you?"

Jack huffed femininely, bending down to his level to widen his eyes at him. "It's _Captain. Captain _Jack Sparrow. How truly difficult is it to remember a name and it's honorific?"

Caleb crossed his arms. "You're only a captain if you're on a ship." He pointed to the _Black Pearl. _"Why aren't you on your ship?"

Jack furrowed his eyebrows, as if deep in thought. "Well, e'ry now and again I like to go on land and eat little boys for dinner, sometimes with a slice of bread and a cup a' tea." He grabbed out with his hands. "Oh, lookie here, I found one!"

Caleb darted down to pick up a rock, and threw it straight at Jack's face. The sharp edge skidded off his cheek, taking some skin with it.

"Bugger!" Jack exclaimed, pressing his dirty sleeve against the cut. It began pouring out blood. "The bloody hell did you do that for?"

But he was gone, off to gather his friends to come back and terrorize the pirate more. Jack flailed his arms, keeping the children back, and then sprinted away. Their taunting calls trailed after him until he was out of sight in one of the small canopies that littered the island. "Little devils," he muttered under his breath, tearing the end of his sleeve off with his teeth and holding it to the wound.

He looked around, absentmindedly fiddling with the compass he stored in the pocket of his crisp breeches. The afternoon sun was blazing through the trees, a variety of Caribbean birds chirping at each other high up in the palm trees. The air was strangely cool for mid-Autumn, making the humidity surrounding him more bearable than normal.

He licked his thumb, rubbing it against his eyes to take off the kohl. Now, back to the reason he was truly here. The _Pearl _needed supplies, and whatever could be stolen from the ship back on the harbor won't be enough. He needed to blend in as much as possible to get what he needed.

Stroking his (now shaven) chin, he wandered until he found the outskirts of the town. There was a cottage there, away from the other houses, as if they didn't want it to be a part of their group. He found some humor in it, letting out an airy chuckle, before continuing on into the town.

It didn't take him long to get everything he needed, but it did take a lot of energy. Every time he got a batch of fresh supplies, he had to drag it into his waiting spot near the _Pearl_'s usual cove. But, now that everything he needed had been bought, he sat down behind one of the cliffs and waited.

His cut was now crusted with dried blood, and the sweat ran into it, making his eyes water. The sun was now low out at sea, burning into his eyes twice as badly. He eyed the large package of rum beside him, licking his lips. One bottle, and his misery would go away…

"No, mate," he muttered to himself, grabbing onto his wandering hand as if he could restrain himself. "Save that for the journey to Tortuga."

He stood up from the rock he had been sitting on, popping his aching bones. Making sure his sleeves were rolled down enough to cover his tattoos and pirate brand, he made his way towards the village.

"There better be a tavern," he grumbled.

* * *

Elizabeth Swann was, all ladylike pretenses aside, bored out of her damn mind.

Looking out to the muddled sunset, she sighed, curling a stray hair around her ear. Yes, she had gotten what she wanted: a husband, and a life outside of piracy. But Will would not return to her for another eight years, and life outside of the dangerous quests and barbaric pirates wasn't what she had hoped for. It was bland, and she found herself missing it terribly whenever she looked out to sea on nights such as these. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe she was supposed to be a pirate.

Sighing, she looked around her cottage. It's not as if her life was unfavorable. She had made friends over the decades of living on the island, her home was perfectly placed away from the others, and her father had left her a large inheritance that ensured that she would never have to work a day in her life. Life was perfect for a 'widow' in Port Royal.

But she didn't _want _perfect. She wanted freedom, adventure, danger, everything a pirate had. It had escalated from mere childhood fantasies; she _was _a pirate. Jack had made sure she was King, that she could have the freedom she wanted. And what was she doing? Sitting at the same table, day after day, looking out to the ever-changing sea for a sign of her husband or, more rarely, black sails. She stood up hurriedly, her emerald dress shuffling around her legs.

She figured that it _was _in fact time for one of her annual rebellions.

Running to her closet, she threw off her dress and tore the pins out of her hair with a wince. She redid the curls, braiding her hair and flopping it over itself before securing it once again. She slipped out of her dress and into her sailing clothes, wrapping her chest along the way. The clothe was soft, unrestricting, and _free _against her skin. She grinned.

Grabbing her hat and coat, she dashed out of the door, but not before plucking up a few gold coins from her purse. She figured that it was time to visit the tavern, and since women were constantly bothered there… the disguise was the best alternative, if it meant getting her a drink. A certain pirate _had _somewhat forced her to grow a liking towards rum.

She immediately threw her hat on as she walked out, staying close to the dim shadows so no one would see her. She didn't need any more rumors about her odd behavior spreading throughout the town. She ran into one of the canopies, taking the short way to the tavern.

The air was chill, chiller than usual in the sunset. Shrugging on the jacket, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and kept her head low, walking out onto stone pavement as she entered the town once more. Hearing the rowdy behavior from the building ahead of her, she drew her features thin to avoid future confrontation, and then pushed through the doors.

The overall loudness was more joyful than vengeful, she mused. Not like in the various taverns back on Tortuga, where the boisterous laughter was fueled just by others' misfortune. Not to mention the alcohol-induced fights that constantly destroyed the taverns. She didn't have to dart between sweaty men with pistols whenever she walked through the threshold, didn't have to hold her change in fear of being pick pocketed by fearless scoundrels when she pulled out a coin at the bar.

"Rum," she muttered in the most inconspicuous voice possible, using the back of her throat to sound more gruff and manly. The woman at the counter nodded, not saying a word while she shuffled around in her modest clothing to get a bottle. When she returned, however, a figure near Elizabeth leaned over the counter, cheekily grinning at the barmaid.

"I'll take a rum as well, love," he said, reaching out to ruffle a ribbon on her sleeve. "But I'm more interested to know the price of _ye_ for a night."

The barmaid immediately grew red, tearing out of his grasp with a smack to the wrist. The man grunted, leaning back in his chair. Elizabeth watched the exchange with slight amusement.

"Now, darling, I'll be frank with ye," he began, licking his lips under the shadow of his hat. Elizabeth felt a twinge of something deep within her at the voice. "I don't play games. There be only _one _reason a woman like ye be working here, and that reason is to-"

A resounding _SLAP _filled the air before he could finish his words. It was the barmaid, her face twisted into annoyance with her hand still raised in the aftermath of the slap. The tavern grew deathly quiet.

Elizabeth's hand flew up to her mouth in shock. She would expect that in other places, but not here. Women never fought back on English land!

The man rubbed his cheek, which already seemed to have a sort of cut marring it. Wiping away the blood that seeped out of the reopened wound, he looked up to her again, smiling a bit more drily. Everyone seemed to lean forward, just to hear his lazy response:

"So, sweetheart, what ye're _trying_ to say is that you cost more than the rum?"

The voices immediately returned, full blast, though all were directed towards the now-irritated man. Some pushed him around a bit, trying to start confrontations, until the crowd surrounded Elizabeth. She couldn't get through. Why the hell were these men suddenly standing up for a random barmaid?

Oh, right. It wasn't Tortuga, it was _Port Royal_. Every man was a white knight to a female that 'can't protect herself', and anyone saying otherwise was just a bloody pirate. Elizabeth's face twisted into disgust at the thought. If only they saw her handle a sword… Their patriarchal ideals would be flyingout the window!

Choice words were said, and soon, weapons were drawn by nearly everyone in the tavern. _Impossible, _Elizabeth thought. _The English think through things more than this._

But alas, she was wrong, and soon everyone began to fight each other until they forgot what they were fighting about. Few left out the door, and those who did only left because they lacked a weapon. An Elizabeth was one of those people. _If I can just… reach the door…_

Finally, only sporting a few nicks, Elizabeth emerged through the doors and into the twilight. But, it seems as though she wasn't finished yet. A hard body slammed into her, thrown out of the bar, and almost knocked her over. She whipped around to see the figure stumbling back from her. "Who the hell-?"

But she knew who he was. She could see the golden teeth, the dreadlocks falling out of the tri-cornered hat, the expressive black eyes that seemed to stare right into her soul. Her heart pounded at the realization she had came to.

"_… Jack?!"_

"'Ello, Lizzie," He drawled, leaning forward to lazily grin at her. "I like wha' ye've been doin' with yer hair, love."

And then he fell forward, knocking them both over onto the ground, where a cut over his torso in the shape of an 'X' bled through the torn white of his sailor's blouse.


End file.
